


Dead Hearts Are Everywhere

by shinkonokokoro



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: All warnings are in the notes at the end, M/M, Possible triggers: please see the end notes for warnings., Trigger Warning: Cancer, nonpowered AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's rare to become muse to an art student at this stage of the game. But hey. Tony'll take what he can get. Giving back to the community and all, right? </p><p>Fic warnings at the bottom for containing spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the Stars song 'Dead Hearts'
> 
> Please read the notes at the end for possibly triggering warnings. I did not put them up at the top for spoiler reasons. As I don't want people to have any problems, please read the end notes. This fic does contain illness. Read the end notes.

Cover made by me  


When Tony started losing his hair, he decided he didn’t need that shit and shaved it all off. Except it made his head look funny, because his head looked better with hair on it. And it didn’t help that Mr. Tall-Blonde-Gorgeous Perfection who had begun invading his favourite coffee joint was staring at him from one table over at the café. “Yeah, get your zombie fix in, asshole, because this is what the walking dead looks like!” he called.

The kid flushed bright red, dropping his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right. Be embarrassed,” Tony groused.

The kid seemed to be mumbling something.

“Sorry. What’s that?” Tony said with a hand exaggeratedly cupped to his ear. “Can’t hear you over here. Must be losing my hearing too.”

The kid looked up, flushing brightly, gathering his things and scurried off. Except that he missed a piece of paper that fluttered, half-caught beneath the foot of the table. Ignoring the annoyed looks of the other patrons, Tony walked over and picked it up, just to see what the kid had been doing.

And blinked. Oh.

Drawing.

Drawing _him_.

Tony didn’t see him again for another week. He went for stealth in the meanwhile. Hat, shades, and a hoodie to blend in. Eventually the kid showed up, looked around, seemed...relieved? disappointed? that he didn’t see Tony. Who else would he be looking for? Right? And then settled in, sketching, the barista bringing him a drink. Tony called her over and told her to put the next on his card. Except the kid didn't order another. He sat there. Just sketching. For almost three hours. Tony slouched down in his seat, feet propped up on the second chair as he toyed with his phone. With his hood pulled down, there was very little chance that he would be recognised.

When the waitress walked by, he snagged her wrist. She jumped and looked down at him in surprise that quickly vanished behind some attempt at professionalism. It was a look Tony had grown used to. "Sir?"

"That kid." He jerked his head at Steve. "What's his story."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Relax!" He said sharply. "I just want to know why he seems obsessed with me..."

She snorted. "I don't know why after the way you embarrassed him the other day."

Tony dropped her wrist. "People stare a lot, okay?"

"Steve is a really nice guy. Don't—"

"His name is Steve!"

She tutted, rolling her eyes. "Yes. And you should leave him alone."

Tony snorted. But didn't open his mouth to say anything. He probably should leave Steve alone. That would be for the best. His attention focused in on the kid, he didn't notice the waitress walk off. Tony finally just stuck his phone in his pocket and slouched off.  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tony turned into a stalker. The waitress wouldn't tell him anything else about Steve and must have warned the other waitresses off him because they weren't saying anything either.

So he became a stalker. Tony got very good at following and loitering, making it seem like he was busy with something, usually his phone, so that he wouldn't be noticed. With no way to search him out digitally, seeing as Steve was a depressingly common name, and Tony didn’t even know if it was 'Steve,' 'Steven,' 'Stephen,' or even 'Stephano.' Okay. Probably not the last.

One day he followed Steve all the way back to what appeared to be a small art college. Of course. And then, by complete chance, some guy ran up to Steve, calling, "Rogers!" So. Steve Rogers. Steve's face lit up, a smile spreading across his lips.

Tony turned and left.

The next day he loitered at the café. He had Steve's drawing on him. He'd scrawled, 'this doesn't even look like me' on a corner and then folded it up so his message was on top. Sipping his coffee anxiously, Tony waited. He waited an hour and thirty-eight minutes for Steve to show. Had given up too when the guy finally trudged into sight, dropping into his usual chair.

swallowing, Tony waited until he settled in before flagging the waitress down. "Hey. Go give this to Steve. Please." He held the folded drawing up to her.

"What is thi—"

"None of your business," he interrupted smoothly.

"Why should I?"

"Come on..." he cajoled, tipping his face up towards her, so she could see the circles under his eyes and his baldness. "You're not going to deny a dying man are you?"

Her face softened just how he knew it would. "Alright. I guess."

As soon as she turned her back, Tony jumped up, wincing at his hip banging the arm of the metal chair, and darted away to hide at the edge of the crowd on the corner. He could see

Steve jump up as well, looking around frantically.

"Then let me do a better job!" Steve shouted, still looking for him, drawing clenched in his hand.

Tony left.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
He had doctor appointments the next day, meetings with his lawyers the next, and then he felt too sick to go anywhere the two days after that. But he returned to the cafe that Monday, bald head bare, hands in his pockets.

“You!” Steve accused, coming right up to Tony's table when he arrived.

“Me?” he replied, looking up from his phone, feigning disinterest.

“I've been...” Steve trailed off, face flushing. “Do you mind me using you as the subject of my art final?”

Blinking, Tony looked up at the kid. Gestured for him to take a seat. “You don't even know me.”

“I don't have to know you to want to draw you,” Steve countered, setting his portfolio down, the metal scraping on concrete as Steve pulled the chair out.

“My name is Tony,” he said, lips tugging upwards at his earnestness.

“Steve.”

“Rogers, I know.”

Steve's expression changed. “Do I—”

“No, I'm a creepy stalker and found out,” Tony breezed.

To his surprise, Steve laughed. “Alright. Tony. So. Will you?”

He swallowed his unease, or maybe that was the chemo sending his breakfast back up his throat and, to his surprise again, nodded. “Sure,” his mouth said. “I'll do it.”

“Great!” Steve breathed, beaming.

“Orders?” the waitress prompted.

They both ordered, Tony a triple shot espresso, Steve a milky latte, and sat and talked for a while. “So...” Tony finally prefaced, “Why do you want to draw me?”

Steve tilted his head at the question. “I... it's hard to put a finger on it. Some people are really easy to capture in media Some people... Some people you need just the /right/ media to capture them. Some you may have to try thirty times before you get something that looks right. And some people...you're going to have to work really hard to get their essence down, and it's a challenge, and it'll take hours of work and dedication and study, but once you get it, when you _really_ get it, it'll be amazing. Totally worth it.” The guy's face had softened during his little rant, eyes sparking with his passion as his hands waved about in front of his face.

“And?”

“And?” Steve blinked, jerked out of his flow. “Oh. And you're the latter, and I really want the challenge.” He grinned.

Tony shook his head, sighing ruefully. “That's encouraging.”

“No! I mean, it is! It's... It means you're interesting.”

“Well I knew that,” Tony drawled.

Steve gave him a reproachful look, tempered with excitement. “It will. I have a couple ideas. But I didn't really want to put a whole lot of thought into them, just in case you didn't agree, or I couldn't find you again.”

“Huh. So... What do you want from me?” Tony asked, folding his arms across his chest. His phone dinged in his pocket. Dammit. He flicked it out and looked at it. Meeting reminder in half an hour.

“Some uninterrupted time where I can draw you,” Steve said, large hands cradling the coffee mug.

“When.”

“Soon? I was hoping that we'd be able to do this soon so I can get a bunch of sketches down.”

Nodding, Tony glanced at his watch. “Great. Uh... How about you give me your number, and I'll let you know when I can? Kind of have to be at a business meeting soon.”

“Oh. Oh!” Steve's eyes widened in surprise. “You don't look very old.”

“Thanks,” he replied drily, standing. “I try not to.”

“No, that's not what I meant,” Steve said, flushing at his faux pas. “I just meant that, for your to have a business meeting. That's...good. Right? Impressive? _Because_ you're so young?”

“Oh. I. Guess?” He stood, dropping some cash on the table for the waitress. And watched Steve's eyes widen.

“That's...generous.”

Tony grinned. “I'll bring coffee next time. Where do you want to meet.”

“Well, I've got all my materials at my apartment. If you don't mind.”

“You sure you're not propositioning me for sex?” Tony said with a leering grin, just to watch the guy sputter some more.

“What! No! No! I—art! Really! That's all I want!” Steve blustered, ears reddening.

Laughing, Tony stuffed his chilled hands into his pockets. Circulation wasn't so great these days. He waved to Steve and walked off, Happy meeting him around the corner to take him back to Stark Industries.

Tony wasn't able to meet Steve for another three days. He had work to finish up while his fingers could still do it, and he had projects to prioritise, which to scrap and dump before he passed them on to someone else with his detailed plans. There were directions to give Pepper. Because who else was he really going to pass his company on to? No one else knew it like she did. No one else knew _him_ like she did. And no one else loved it like he did. He was absurdly grateful for that.

By the time he shot Steve a text, he'd found out all about the kid. Orphan from age sixteen, not too different from himself in that respect, he had served one tour in the military and then returned to conquer art school. Leaving them, roughly, about the same age. Where he was currently doing quite well for himself. He had honours for every semester, and had placed highly in a few art contests, even had some of his work published in amateur publications, did some work for movie posters and band posters. And he was good. Tony was impressed. The guy's record was mostly spotless, a couple of bar fights where the record stated that the policeman that Steve had punched had been harassing a girl. So. You could hardly hate the guy for a thing like that.  
Steve got back to him in a half hour, giving him an address where Tony could meet him. Happy warned him to be careful.

“I'll be fine, worry-wart,” he called back fondly as he got out and shut the door.

“Don't forget your meds, boss.”

“I've got them,” he said crisply. “Now I'll let you know when I need a ride. Thank you.” Waving, Tony walked up the steps to the building and right through the front door. “Great security,” he said, when Steve opened his apartment door.

Steve shrugged. “Don't really need it. Besides. Nobody bothers a former soldier.”

“Right,” Tony said, breezing past him, into the small, but homey space. “Well. What do you want me to do?” He poked his head into the kitchen space, wandering through the sitting room, taking in the saggy couch and garish crocheted blankets.

“Whatever. We can sit ant watch TV,” Steve began, following him quickly. “Just sit and relax, and I'll sketch you until I've got the hang of you.”

“I hope you realise how dirty that sounds,” Tony said absently, shucking his jacket and flopping down on the sofa.

“Oh my God. Do you have to be so...”

“So what?” he said smugly.

Steve threw him a glare and then left, disappearing into what must be his bedroom and returning with some pencils and a sketchpad.

Watching him settle, Tony pursed his lips in thought. “So... I just sit here? And you draw me. While I sit here.”

“Yeah. Sure. We can talk if you want. I'm just getting down some gestures, facial structure. That type of thing.” Steve paused, looking down at his blank page. “Did I really get it so wrong last time?”

“Huh? No. No, it wasn't—it was really good! I just... needed a way to... I was getting under your skin. That's all.” Tony offered him a quick grin. “Anything I need to do?”

“No,” Steve laughed. “Just relax. I'll do all the work. Just be normal. Why don't you tell me about yourself.”

Fiddling with his phone, Tony let his eyes wander around Steve's apartment. “Uh...”

“Or not,” Steve said when Tony's silence dragged on.

“What? No. Just...thinking. What is there to tell.”

“Well, for starters, I don't even know your last name,” Steve said, pencil already scritching on the paper.

“Oh... Right...” Tony said lamely. “Uh. Stark.”

Steve's hand paused. He looked up, squinting at Tony, then reached over to dig around in his bag. He pulled out his phone. “Stark.” Then looked back at Tony. “As in...?” And pointed at his phone where the Stark swoosh was clearly visible on the back.

“Uh... Yeah. That Stark.”

“Oh my God.”

“No! Do not freak out. I cannot handle freaking out!” Tony said firmly, holding up a finger.

“Your _dad_ owns the company?”

Tony's face wrinkled, affronted. “My _dad_? What the hell! No. No, _I_ do.”

Steve's jaw dropped as he gaped unattractively. “Oh my God.” Then paled rapidly enough that Tony sat forward in concern. “Oh my _God_. You have cancer! It's been all over the news!”

His stomach curdled as he sat back, folding his arms.

“Oh my God. I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't—that was incredibly rude!” Steve blabbered on.

“You thought the bare head was just a fashion statement?” he quipped sourly.

“I... I didn't know?” Steve said weakly. “You look so different without hair.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “So glad my hair is a defining feature...”

“Well. That and your goatee. Which...is hair,” Steve mumbled, dropping his eyes. “Sorry. We... You don't have to do this. I didn't realise...”

Forcing a laugh, Tony said, “What. That you were getting a celebrity? Come on. I agreed.”

“You can back out!” Steve said a little desperately.

“What. Do you _want_ me to back out?” Tony said defensively, nose wrinkling up in affront.

“What?” Steve's eyes widened. “No. No, I just thought... Because of everything... You wouldn't want me to.”

Glaring at Steve a long moment, Tony finally just sighed. “Trust me. If I hadn't want to do this, or if I'd minded, then I really wouldn't be here. You'd probably have never seen me again.” He offered a wry smile.

“Oh. Well. I just want you to be comfortable,” Steve said firmly.

“It's fine,” he assured. “Now can we move on, and let's forget this whole awkward business?”

“Yeah. Sure. It's just... I mean. Do you have time? For this?”

If his smile was a little bitter, Steve didn't comment on it. “I've been given... liberties. I'll live until you finish it. If that's what you mean.”

“Oh God! No.” Steve looked horrified.

“'Kay.”

“Right.” Silence.

Tony sighed gustily, rolling his eyes again and slumping on the sofa. “Well. Get a move on! Draw! Create! Make me beautiful!”

That brought an attempt of a smile to Steve's lips as he ducked his head. Lifting his pencil, he drew for a minute, the pencil on the paper the only noise while Tony looked at Steve's apartment. Mostly sparse. Cheap furniture. A folded flag on the bookcase. Full of lots of books. Drawing books, literature classics, a couple how-to books. There were a few picture frames featuring Steve in uniform. Another guy. And then a gorgeous woman. “That your girlfriend?”

“Hm?” Steve replied absently before looking up and following Tony's line of sight. His face tightened. “No. No, she...maybe.”

“Maybe? Ho—”

“Maybe _would_ have been.

“Oh.” Tony looked down at his lap. “Sorry.”

“She died.”

“Oh!”

“It's fine,” Steve said, still drawing “Tell me about your work. What you do.”

“Make executive decisions. And create stuff.”

“Tell me about that.”

Tony launched into a meandering expository of his creations, and Pepper, and his workshop. Two hours later and he's a bit hoarse. Steve looked up.

“Okay.”

Tony blinked. “Okay?”

“I'm done for now. I'll fix you some tea. For your voice. No more for today, probably.”

“Oh.” He watched Steve get up, followed him to the kitchenette, and loitered while the man fixed tea. “So... Can I see? The sketches?”

Smiling, Steve handed the mug to Tony. “Here. And no. They're just preliminaries.”

“So! It's my face. I want to see!”

Steve laughed. “Drink your tea.” And sipped from his own mug. “So. Pepper. Is she your girl?”

“My _girl_?” Tony snorted. “You are such an old man. No. No, Pepper is my CEO. Well. _Will_ be the CEO. When I'm...”

“Oh.”

“Jesus. This is awkward. Pepper's taking over the company. Because I'm going to die. And obviously I can't do it if I'm dead. So.” He nodded firmly. “There's that.” And swigged his tea. It did make his throat feel better. “So. When do you want me to come next?”

“When are you free next week?”

Pulling out his phone, Tony hummed. “Let's see.... Thursday? When's this thing need to be done?”

“May. That's my show. So a little over a month.”

“Cool. Tell me when. I'll be there.”

“Really?”

“Well. Yeah. I want to see the final version of my face.” Tony grinned.

“Great!” Steve beamed at him. “I think it's going to be may 10? That's a Friday. I think.”

“It is.” Tony flashed his phone calender at him, drained the last of his tea, and then handed his mug back to Steve.

“Good. Thanks!”

“I gotta get going,” Tony said, taking the cue from Steve. “Next Thursday. Let me know what time I should get here and stuff. I'll try and be on time.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tony spent a lot of the next week thinking about Steve and his artwork. The guy was good. Really good. And poor. Hence, solution obvious. Cash in hand, Tony wandered into the art gallery of Steve's school. Before long, an attendant interrupted his wandering.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

He turned and smiled widely, dressed in a suit, having come from work. “Yes. I'd like to purchase some art.”

“Well, sir. We do have an excellent selection of student art. My name is Carla, by the way. I'm the gallery manager here.”

He shook her offered hand, wiping it surreptitiously against the back of his thigh when parted. “Thanks. I'm looking for work by Steve Rogers.”

She nodded and lead him over to a small alcove where five of his works hung. One was an obviously-devoted portrait of Peggy (killed in action, Tony had learned), a small street full of busy people (France or Italy, Tony would guessed), a wood path of ink and maybe water colour (soothing), a war scene in ink and monotone reds, and a watery sort of self portrait.

“Rogers is very talented,” Carla was saying. “He's got a very unique perspective, a good use of colour and media, and we—”

Tony interrupted her with a raised hand. “I know. I want to buy the street scene and the forest road.”

Her eyes widened in surprised pleasure. “Oh!”  
“And I'm going to give you twenty grand for both.” He felt vindictively pleased when her jaw dropped. “Subsequent conditions are: Rogers won't know who bought the paintings, and he will get the entire amount,” he steamrolled over her sputtering. “I'll give you a thousand for fees.” Tony finally turned his head to look at her.

“O-oh,” she breathed faintly.

Grinning, Tony handed her an envelope of cash.

“This is...more than generous...”

“Just call me an anonymous benefactor. I'll take my art now.”

“Can you...carry them?”

Whipping out his phone, Tony dialled Happy's number. “Hey man. Put the flashers on and come and give me a hand.” Then turned to Carla. “I'm good.”

“Right. Well I'll be right back.” Carla wandered off, presumably to process the sale. By the time she returned with a receipt, butcher paper, and certificate of authenticity, Happy was inside, holding one of the frames awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Tony said, accepting the certificates and receipts, checking them before sliding them back into their protective folder.

“My pleasure. Let me wrap those for you.”

“Make sure Rogers gets that money,” Tony said while Happy and Carla got the paintings wrapped.

“Of course. Of course,” she said, breathing heavily. Carla smiled when finished. “You have a nice day!”

Happy helped Tony get the paintings up to his apartment in the tower, having sold the family home.

“What!” Pepper said, heels clacking as she hurried after them. “What is that! Tony! More art? Tony! Do you—”

“Pepper, Pepper. It's still my money; I can do with it what I want. And I wanted some art. So I bought art.” He turned to look back at Happy, struggling to get the things hung on the wall.

“Tony, you don't _need_ more art!” Pepper protested. “And you don't even _like_ art!”

“I do so! And it's _student_ art, so it's for a good cause!” he bristled, raising his voice over hers. “I like it, Pepper, and it's supporting art students, so I bought it!”

Pepper's face was twisted in pity when he first turned around, quickly schooled into one of exasperation. “Okay. Okay. You know you have a meeting in about a half hour, right?”

“Ever vigilant, Pepper,” Tony drawled. “Thank you, Miss Potts.”

She sighed and then said lightly, “Watch it, Mr. Stark. Also, I have papers from your lawyers.”

“Great. Have more of my belongings.”

“Tony...” Pepper's voice softened. “If you don't wan—”

“Don't even go there, Pep. Take I easy,” he said tiredly. “I just... I just... You know me. Just griping. Hap, the one on the far wall isn't straight.”

“Sure thing, Boss.” And grunted as he stretched to adjust it.

“Great. Come see, Pep. They're really good.” She sighed but followed Tony over, arms folded as she looked up at the paintings on the wall. “So?”

“They're... well he certainly is very talented.”

“Damn straight,” Tony said proudly, liking the look of the paintings on his walls. Maybe he'd move one to his bedroom. Give him something nice to look at when he was laid up.

“I just wish you'd warn me about these outings, Tony. You need to be careful,” Pepper warned.

“Relax, Pepperpot. I'm all grown up. I'm a real boy.”

“I kno—”

“I know you know. And I know you're just looking out for me,” Tony said, trying to keep his temper. “But I have to be able to do what I'm going to do and not have to worry about you mothering me.” Tony lifted his eyes to look at her. “Right? Am I... Is that unreasonable?”

Sighing, Pepper clacked closer and wrapped her arms around him. “I know. I'm sorry. I just get worried. And I want you to take care of yourself.”

“Well,” Tony said with a broad grin and a glance at his watch. “What do you need me to sign?”

“You in a hurry?” she drawled, but laid the papers out on the table and handed Tony a pen.

Which he handed back to her with a more real smile. “Thanks. You're the best. Happy, you're good to go, my man. I don't need you for anything. Thanks. Dismissed all. See you later, get out of my face, let me breathe, spread my wings, be a free little birdie, get my—”

“Okay, Tony, we get it,” Pepper laughed, gathering the papers and sticking them back in her satchel.

He waved them off and then collapsed on the sofa once the door was shut. Exhausted, Tony gave himself a moment to indulge in the sensation of laying down. He draped an arm over his face. And dozed. Until his phone rang around eight. “'ello?”

“Tony?”

“Rhodey? Hey!” Tony sat up and scrubbed at his face.

“Hey man. How are you?”

“Fine, fine, still dying. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” Rhodey said quickly. “I just had some free time and I wanted to call.”

“Aww, feeling guilty, sugar?” Tony laughed.

“Come on, Tony. Don't give me a hard time. Just wanted to know if there's any change.”

“Nope,” he replied lightly. “Still only got about a couple months or so.” Rhodes was quiet on the other end a moment, so Tony went on. “Listen. Don't feel guilty about it. It's hardly your fault.”

“I'll try and get there soon,” his friend assured him.

“Don't trouble yourself. I know you'll make it for the funeral.”

“Jesus, Tony! Stop joking about it!”

He swallowed tightly. “If I don't joke about it, I can't—”

“Fine! It's fine. Just... Remember that we're the ones that survive you, Tony. You don't have to miss us.”

Flopping back on the sofa, he swallowed, guiltily. “Stop feeling guilty,” he ordered harshly. “I don't want it. Just... Just act like everything's _normal_. That's all I want. If you can get the time off to visit, that's great. If not, don't sweat it.”

Rhodey sighed on the other end of the line and they dissolved into everyday chatter that felt better than talking about his inevitable demise. He knew Rhodey felt guilty. For Tony's illness and for being so far away. Not that Tony begrudged him for it. The man had responsibilities. Tony understood.

“Listen, Rhodey. I gotta go. Busy day tomorrow. And I think I'm actually going to try for some sleep.”

“Oh yeah. Sure. Listen. You take care of yourself. I mean it.”

“Of course, of course,” Tony breezed. “You too. Keep on rockin'. I'll talk with you later.”

“Alright, Tony. Later.”

Smooching at the phone, Tony hung up and dropped it on his belly with a sigh. He was tired. And he should sleep. Especially if he wanted some of those bags gone by the time he had to sit for Steve. So he dragged himself to bed, stripping down. He could shower in the morning. Donning a t-shirt and flannels, Tony pulled the duvet and sheets up over his shoulders. Even with the heat turned up, he sometimes got cold these days.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

“Tony, you won't believe it!” Steve said, pulling him into his apartment when he arrived.

“What?” Tony laughed, coming in and accepting the mug of coffee Steve pushed at him.

“Someone bought my art!” he cried, eyes bright and smile wide with his excitement.

Tony couldn't help but beam back at him, his heart feeling too big for his chest by how excited Steve was.

“For a _lot_ of money too! It's amazing! And...” He ducked his head sheepishly. “I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to make rent, and... Oh my God, this is just... It's an answer to prayers!”

“That's awesome! I'm really happy for you, Steve,” Tony said, his cheeks hurting.

“Thank you! Well. I don't know who it was, but I got the money from the gallery...” Steve shook his head in disbelief. “I am so thankful. It's amazing though. My first art sales. Well. Big sale. Can you believe it! Ten grand apiece. Two pieces of art, Tony. _Two_! I don't even know what to _do_ with that much money!”

Tony shook his head with a chuckle, downing his coffee. “Well. That's great news, Steve. Congrats. So. How you want me today?”

A light flush came to Rogers' cheeks as he gestured back towards where the easel was set up, a slightly different spot. “Over here. You sit on the stool, facing the window so I've got good light. And let me know if you get uncomfortable. Or wait. I've got a cushion. We can put that on the stool for you to sit on. But still. Let me know if you get uncomfortable. And we can take a break.”

Steve's rambling was sort of adorable. Tony perched himself on the stool, Steve arranging his limbs how he wanted them.

“You really should wear a hat, you know.”

He bristled.

“Your head must get cold,” Steve continued absently, picking up his sketchpad. “And you don't want to get sick.”

“Okay, mom,” Tony drawled.

Steve looked up sharply. “Hey. I'm just watching out for you.”

“You do know we're about the same age, right?”

Steve blinked at him. “Really? Oh. I didn't know.”

Tony grinned, exasperated, and sat still for Steve to sketch him. “So. What are you going to do? Do you have a plan for what the final product is going to look like?”

The other shook his head. “Nope.”

“Seriously? Don't you have to...I don't know. Have a plan or a sketch to show your teacher for approval.”

“It's a final project,” Steve said drily with an arched brow. “Besides. Final products always finish much differently than initial sketches. Isn't it the same for you? With your inventions?”

His eyes widened. He hadn't thought of it that way. “Yes. I suppose so.”

“There you are then.” And Steve threw him another cheery smile and continued sketching away.

“You are endlessly cheerful,” Tony accused.

Steve laughed. “I just got twenty grand! I think I'm allowed.”

Tony's smile turned grudging and he hid it in his shoulder. When he looked up again, Steve was focused intently on his canvas in front of him. He sat for Steve for the next two hours, different positions, different lighting, different expressions. The next two weeks went much the same.

Tony. Sitting for Steve while Steve drew, painted, and sketched him. Never letting him see any of the finished copies. In between drawing sessions, Tony would sometimes take Steve for food or coffee, introducing him to a bunch of little places around town. Steve would laugh at his jokes, accept his odd form of care-taking with amusement and rolled eyes. And Steve would watch out for him too. More overtly. Like the time Tony was about to step into the crosswalk and Steve grabbed him and hauled him backwards out of the way of a cyclist.

“Watch where you're going you damn bastard; I'm walking here!” Tony bellowed after him. The guy gave him the finger. “Hey! I was—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted, turning him so they were face to face. “You okay?”

“Of course I'm fine,” he blustered.

“Forget that guy. Don't worry about it. As long as you're okay.” Steve's brow furrowed adorably in concern.

“Steve, I'm _fine_.”

“You're...” Steve bit his lip.

“I'm...?” Tony repeated, expectant.

“N-nothing.” He turned to head across the street.

“Woah no. No, no. You don't do that. I hate that. Have I mentioned how I hate that? Don't bring something up and then dodge the question. Answer me.”

“You're just... you're so _light_.”

Tony scowled and dropped his eyes. “Let's cross the street.”

“No, Tony...” Steve said grabbing Tony's arm. “Hey. I just... It was just something I noticed. Relax. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“Give it a rest, Steve,” he replied casually, heading across the street as the light flashed.

“Tony...!”

“I have a meeting. Gotta get back to the office.”

Steve grabbed his arm again when they reached the side of the street. “Will you stop running away from me? I was just surprised is all!”

“Well you tend to lose weight on chemo. It's a great diet,” Tony snapped.

“Hey,” Steve said, expression hardening. “I wasn't commenting on that, Tony. I didn't want to bring it up. You're the one making a big deal out of it.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “I have to go. I'll see you on Thursday.” And he made his tactical retreat into his limo that had been keeping pace.

“Tony!”

He ignored Steve's shouts and hunkered down in his seat, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“You okay, Sir?” Happy asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I'm _fine_ , Happy. Just leave me alone,” Tony mumbled, feeling suddenly tired and small and sick. His eyes burned as he felt tears well up. “Dammit,” he hissed, slamming a hand down on the leather seat. He'd been doing so well so far. He'd not felt any of those things. But the argument with Steve had suddenly—well it wasn't even really an argument. It wasn't anything more than some harsh words. He looked out the back window. Of course he wouldn't see Steve. They'd already turned the corner. Tony swiped at the moisture angrily, feeling bruised all over. Just when things had been going so well, Steve had to go and remind him. Of course, the best part _about_ Steve had been that he hadn't been constantly harping on Tony like Pepper, guilty like Rhodey, waiting like his board, apologetic like Happy.

His phone beeped.

Steve.

[I'm sorry.]

He stewed the rest of the day, hiding in his workshop.

“Trouble in paradise?” Pepper said brightly as she clacked across the room.

“Leave me alone.”

“Hm. Must be. You apologise?”

“Why are you assuming it's my fault!” Tony snapped at her.

Pepper's expression turned serious. “You like him?”

“Not in the we're-going-to-get-married-and-run-off-into-the-sunset way, Pepper, Jesus.”

“I never suggested,” she replied archly. “You did.”

“Shut up.”

“Treat me nicely, Mr. Stark. You may be giving me your company, but that doesn't exclude you from treating me nicely. Now be nice. You take your meds?”

“Yes,” he said through grit teeth. “I don't want to talk to you right now, Pepper.”

“You spoke to your lawyer about making some changes in your will?”

His hands clenched around his tools. “Pepper.”

“Listen,” she snapped. “You can be in a foul mood. That's fine. I don't care. I understand, even! But you will not take it out on me. Do you understand? I am, and have always been your ally. We've had this conversation about pushing me away. Remember?”

“I remember,” Tony said sullenly.

“Good. Now get your shit together and tell me what's going on.”

“I can't.”

“Tony—”

“Just gimme a sec! I'm not sure yet. Relax. Nothing for you is changing. I'll let you know when things are final, okay?”

Pepper stared at him a moment before nodding. “Fine. Here are some suggestions set forth by the board.”

He groaned. “Fine. Thank you. I'll look at them later.”

“You should apologise,” Pepper said quietly before she left.

The thought kept him up most of the night. He must have looked at Steve's text about thirty times during the night. None of them helped him fall asleep.

So Tony grit his teeth the next morning and went to Steve's apartment. Only he wasn't there. So Tony waited on the stoop, shivering lightly in the cold drizzle. He wished he hadn't worn a suit. He'd told Happy to get out of here. So he clutched his coffee, hunching over it's rapidly feebling warmth and waited for Steve to get back.

Luckily, it was only about an hour or so.

“Tony?! What are you doing out here!” Steve exclaimed, hurrying up the steps and bustling them both into the lobby. “You're soaked!” He looked so upset. “Come on. We need to get you dry. And warm. Definitely warm.”

Tony found himself bustled upstairs to Steve's apartment, his outer layers stripped off and then bundled into as many blankets as Steve could find. “I'm _fine_ ,” Tony protested.

Steve whirled on him, the anger quickly fading away into appropriate concern. The expression shocked him into silence. “You shouldn't sit outside _in the rain_ when it's only forty degrees, Tony! I know you like to pretend you're not sick, but the reality of it is you _are_. And while I wouldn't recommend for healthy people to go around sitting in the rain, I _sure as hell_ wouldn't recommend it for you!”

Tony opened his mouth.

“I'm not finished.”

And shut it.

“If you needed to see me, you should have called. You could have get someone else to ring you in.” Steve's fists were balled at his sides. “This was _stupid_ , Tony, and you had better not get sick because of it.”

“You finished now,” he croaked waspishly.

“You're an idiot,” Steve said harshly.

“Well I was going to apologise,” Tony snapped, throwing the blankets off with some difficulty. He managed to get to his feet before Steve shoved him back down. “H-hey!”

“You're going to sit here until you're dry. Better yet, you should take a warm shower, and I'll make you some tea or something.”

“Going to mother me to death?” he snapped.

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve said, voice flat to match his face. “Go take a shower.”

“Been wanting to see me naked for a while, have you?”

“I _said_ go take a hot shower.”

“I don't need you!”

“I'll call Happy to get him to come pick you up.”

“Fine!” Tony stormed to Steve's bathroom, slamming the door. He shook. Partially from the cold, he knew, but mostly because of Steve and the sick feeling that arguing with the man had created. He snarled at the door and then stripped off the remainder of his clothes while the water warmed up.

Tony froze when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, quickly looked away. Looking back, hesitant, he dragged his fingers over his ribs. Across his chest. God, how fragile he looked. Tony scowled and looked away from his shrinking frame and got into the shower, scrubbing himself down until his skin was pink and looked healthy again. He finally got out of the shower when the water wasn't quite so scalding, even on full power and wrapped himself in a towel. Steve had placed some clothes on the sink for him. His clothes were gone.

Tony swallowed tightly.

Dressing, he slunk back into the sitting room where Steve was waiting.

“Feel better?” Steve asked grudgingly.

“Yes. Uh. Thanks. I'll...leave.”

Steve sighed gustily. “You don't need to _leave_ , Tony. I just... I'm sorry. I got out of hand, and I'm sorry. Why don't you stay and I'll get you something warm to drink.”

Tony shook his head. “No. No, I should just go. I've outstayed my welcome. I'll have your clothes sent back. I—”

“Tony!” Steve said, coming over and grabbing his shoulders carefully. “Relax. You've not outstayed your welcome. You've just made a stupid decision, and I overstepped my bounds by telling you off for it. I'm sorry.”

Tony stared at him. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh. I thought I needed to apologise.”

“Well. An apology for yesterday is nice,” Steve said slowly. “You kind of took things the wrong way and then stormed off on me.”

“You're really gracious in accepting apologies, you know that?” Tony said wryly.

Steve ducked his head. “Sorry. I... Yeah. Um. Apology accepted. I'll get you something. Coffee or tea?”

“Steve. You don't need to. It's fine. I'll be fine.”

“I'm drying your clothes,” he replied, moving to the kitchenette and heating up some water. Why don't you stay a while.”

Tony arranged himself on the sofa, pulling the blankets back around him. The shower had erased most of the chill from the rain, but he still sought warmth to bolster him back up. “Thanks,” Tony murmured, accepting the mug from Steve. The man sat down in the armchair adjacent to Tony and picked up his sketchpad. “Now?” he said, incredulous. “You're going to sketch me _now_?”

Steve blinked up at him. “Well you're sort of adorable.”

His eyes widened. “You're calling me adorable?”

“In a wet puppy sort of way.”

“In a we—Steve!” Tony squawked. “I do not!”

Steve laughed, his pencil already moving across the paper.

“You're really not going to show me any of the sketches?” Tony complained.

“No. They're not finished products. They don't count.”

“Oh. You're one of _those_ people. Finished products are the only ones that matter.”

Steve sniffed primly. “So what. I bet you don't let unfinished products out into the world.”

“Damn straight I don't! But the difference is that mine can potentially harm or kill people. So it doesn't matter.” He sipped the tea, sighing and making faces at Steve while the man sketched.

“You're not making this easy,” Steve drawled.

“Well.” He shrugged uncaringly and settled back into his cocoon of blankets. “You're the one choosing to draw me now.”

They chatted a short while longer, Steve drawing laughter out of him. When the dryer dinged, Steve got up, set his sketchpad down and stepped away. He paused and snagged it up, looking suspiciously at Tony. “Not for you.” He returned sans notebook, Tony's clothes draped over his arm. “Here...”

“Thanks. Again.” He smiled sheepishly and headed back to the bathroom to put his clothes on.

“Hang on to the sweatshirt,” Steve said when he emerged. “It's dropped like a rock. And you, genius that you're supposed to be, didn't bring a jacket.”

“Oh. Well. I'll get it back to you.”

“Just bring it Thursday. That's fine,” Steve smiled.

So Tony had Happy come and get him, ducking out to the limo, wrapped in the sweatshirt that smelled of Steve.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony felt sniffly the next morning, but went about his business. He confronted his board, he signed his papers, he addressed the engineers, he corrected the scientists, he was charming for the journalist interview.

“Tony...?” Pepper said when the interview was over. “Are you okay? You seem... You seem tired.”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “I've had a long day. I'm entitled to tired.”

“Why don't you go get some rest.” She patted his shoulder, giving him a gentle nudge towards the elevator.

Seeing as he was actually tired, Tony nodded and headed up, dressing down to a t-shirt and sweats before pulling Steve's sweatshirt over his head and curling up in his bed to work. He didn't mean to fall asleep.

When he woke, he only felt worse. Tony pulled at the hoodie, bunched at his neck, panting for air. He groaned and rolled onto his side in hopes that if he closed his eyes, the world would stop spinning. “JARVIS. Time.”

“It is nearing four A.M., Sir. Also, I might make note of the fact that your temperature is currently at 99.7.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, JARVIS.” He crawled out of bed, shivering as his feet touched hardwood. Great. Fever. Tony dug up some Advil and got himself a glass of water. Then returned to bed.

He didn't feel any better the next day either, or the day after that, remaining ensconced in his blankets until Pepper called for him.

“Mr. Stark. Get your ass out of bed right now!” she ordered via JARVIS' intercom.

“Not now, Pepper...” Tony muttered in reply.

“Tony, you _said_ you'd meet with the new investors for the energy project! I need you here!”

Groaning, he unearthed himself. “Fine. I'll be down in ten.”

She groaned in exasperation. “Make it fast, _please_. They're waiting.” And then the line cut.

Shivering, he pulled on one of his suits, noting, with displeasure, that it needed to be taken in. Again. It was closer to fifteen minutes when he got downstairs, regretting his choice of tie as the elevator took him down. He tugged at it, cleared his throat.

“Tony!” Pepper hissed, waiting outside the conference room. “You're _late_! I thought this was important to yo—are you okay?” Her expression quickly changed from her usual irritation to one of concern. “You look awful.”

“Always great to hear—” He broke off to cough. “Hear a vote of confidence.

“No, you actually look terrible.” She stepped close, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. “Tony...! You're burning up!”

“Don't _baby_ me, Pepper!” he snapped. “You wanted me here; I'm here!” Tony made to push her aside to get to the meeting room.

“Anthony Stark,” Pepper all but growled, grabbing his arm so tight he winced. “There is one thing I take more seriously than your business, and that is your _health_. You are going to the doctor.”

“I'm _fine_. It's probably just a cold.”

She levelled a flat look at him. “And you know what colds can turn into. Tony, _please_. I'm worried about you. The investors can wait. Please.”

The tension left him, leaving him feeling weak and exhausted. The two things he was hating most these days. “Fine. Fine, let's go. I'll apologise to them, and then I'm ready.”

“Thank you,” she sighed in relief, the crease between her brows unfurrowing. She looked older too.

Tony paused, realising he wasn't the only one his illness was making older. “I'm sorry, Pepper,” Tony murmured, patting her hand with a small smile. He ignored her sad 'Oh Tony...' as he breezed into the conference room. Apologies made, Tony assured the investors he was interested, and then went to the doctor.

“Pneumonia,” the doctor said.

Tony accepted the new prescription with a sinking pit in his stomach and didn't tell Pepper.

“Go ahead and rest,” Pepper said, voice full of pity when they reached the tower. “Anything I need from you, I'll bring up. Take it easy.”

Left alone at the door to his penthouse, Tony shuffled to his bedroom to reclaim warm comfortable clothes. He took his tablet and new meds to bed with him. He had work to do.

Tony made himself eat when dinner time came around. Hopefully he'd have some energy to finish his work. His database of stored projects for Pepper was nearing completion. As were iterations one through four of his clean energy bid. He also had three new generations of Starkphone updates and a whole slew of variable updates for the satellite systems. Never let it be said that Tony Stark was ill-prepared. Ill? Yes. But always prepared.

So Tony wrapped himself up in his bed and his work until about eight when his alarm for his meds went off. “Thanks, JARVIS. Hey, give Steve a call while you're at it.”

“Dialling, Sir.”

“Tony! Hello!” Steve answered cheerfully.

Tony winced. “Hey, Steve. I think I'm going to have to cancel for tomorrow. I'm really not feeling great...”

“Oh no... I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah.” And he did. Steve sounded genuinely disappointed. “And actually...” Tony leaned into his arm to cough, hating to disappoint the guy further. “I um. It might be better if I stop coming—”

“Tony! No! Is this about the argument? I apologised!”

“It's not about that, Steve,” Tony said tiredly. “I'm just... I'm tired. Jesus. I'll be bad company, and I have a lot to do still. So I'll see you at the grand unveiling, big guy. Do a good job on my face, okay? Bye. JARVIS, end call,” Tony croaked, head dropped into his hands.

“Sir, your temperature has not abated, and I recommend rest as your body is registering additional stress.”

“JARVIS, shut up!” Tony shouted. He threw one of his pill bottles, the closest thing at hand, across the room, snarling, dissolving into hacking. “Fuck,” he wheezed, gasping for air.

“Sir?”

“I'm _fine_!” he growled, gulping down water. “Lights off,” he said sullenly. Flopping over, Tony buried himself beneath the covers again and fell, fitfully into sleep.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

The light bled through his eyelids when he woke. Tony groaned and pulled the sheets back over his head.

“Hey! Don't do that!”

Tony jumped, flying upright, sending him hacking and coughing again. “Steve?! What the fuck are you doing up here?”

“Pepper let me in,” he said, distracted, brush clenched in his teeth.

“You're painting. In my bedroom. And that's not a little creepy?” Tony grit out, wrapping the bedding back around him. He grabbed the day's pills and swallowed them dry.

“Well, you wouldn't come to me, so I came to you,” Steve said. “Alright. Good enough for now. Mostly a gesture.”

“You're speaking art babble,” he groused, sliding his feet out of bed and sitting.

“I brought you some breakfast if you're hungry,” Steve commented, gesturing at the dresser where some toast and orange juice sat waiting.

“I can't believe Pepper let you up here. How on earth did you manage that.”

“You didn't mention me to her,” Steve countered.

“Exactly. So how did you get up?” He dragged Steve's hoodie off the foot of the bed, pulling it on before sniffing at the toast to see how interested his stomach was.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shitty. Are you really not going to answer my question?” Tony turned and threw a tired glare at him.

“Just wanted to come say hello,” Steve smiled at him.

“Steve!”

“What?” He looked over at Tony, eyes wide and innocent.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

“I'm coming to you, since you can't come to me,” he replied patiently, like Tony were stupid.

“Paint this,” he grumbled, giving Steve the finger as he stuffed half a piece of toast into his mouth.

The man only laughed.

Flushing faintly, and surprised by the fact, Tony stalked into his bathroom to brush his teeth. Avoiding the mirror, he rubbed a hand over his smooth chin and returned to his room, standing by the door. “Seriously. Why are you here?”

“Well, since my subject couldn't come to me, I came to him.”

“Don't you have enough sketches and shit? You've drawn a billion sketches; you've got to have something goo—” He choked on his sharply inhaled breath. “Fuck!” Tony rasped. “You were in my kitchen?!”

Steve stared at him in thinly veiled alarm. “Yeeesss?”

Tony stared back. Shit. Shit shit. Then Steve had to have seen his art on Tony's walls.

“Tony? Are you okay?”

“Did you see?” he asked in a small voice.

“See....?”

“You didn't see.”

“See what? Tony—”

“How could you _not_ have seen. You _had_ to have seen!”

“Seen _what_?!” Steve said, exasperated.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “You're not playing with me?”

With an exaggerated shrug, Steve looked heavenward. “I have no idea what you're talking about. Some context would help.”

There was no way he was in the clear. That seriously couldn't be possible. His luck never went that way. “Uh.”

“Tony.”

He walked stiffly to his bed, sitting on the edge. “I don't understand you.”

“You've lost me.”

He shook his head. “Never mind. It's not important.”

Staring at him a moment longer, Steve looked back to his painting. “You should eat something else.”

“Stop it,” he warned heatlessly.

“Just saying.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I don't need another pseudo-parent, thanks.”

“I'm not. I just care about. And I want you to be the best you can.”

Tony looked down at his lap. Away from Steve's hands carefully cleaning his brushes. Away from Steve's soft smile as he stared at whatever results that he'd achieved. “You're really not going to let me see anything beforehand?” he asked after a long moment.

“Nope!” Steve grinned at him.

“Jesus...” Tony muttered.

“I want you there. So you can stand beside me when I unveil it. Or maybe you can do the unveiling.” Wiping his hands on his jeans, Steve stood and tucked the easel closer to the wall. “Don't worry. No paint on your floor.”

“I wasn't worried. Wouldn't matter if there was...”

“You're...” Steve shook his head.

“I'm what?”

“You're amazing!”

“I'm amazing?” Tony echoed, eyebrows flying up. “What are you smoking, man?”

“I mean, even with all this going on...” Steve's hands waved at the nebulous space around Tony. “You just keep going, don't you.”

“What else is there to do, Steve?”

The man laughed. “Come on. Eat more.”

“Not particularly hungry.”

“Humour me.” Steve offered him a hand. “Let's watch a movie or something.”

“Don't you have class?”

“Nope. Studio time. Which, seeing as I don't need to use the studio for my subject, I'm good!”

His lips tugged up in a slight smile. “Fine. I vote for not leaving my bed.”

Shrugging, Steve headed towards the bathroom. “Whatever you want. Pick something. I'm just going to wash my hands. Be right there.”

Tony shook his head at the weird turn of events, scooting back up his bed and sliding his legs beneath the covers. “JARVIS, find me something entertaining.”

“Parameters, Sir?”

“Ehn. Something... I don't know. 300. Star Trek. How to Train Your Dragon. I don't care.”

“Cuing, Sir.”

“What are we watching?” Steve asked, fetching the tray off the dresser and bringing it to the bed for Tony.

“You don't have to... you know. Do this. It's not your responsibility to take care of me,” Tony said, warmed by it nonetheless.

“I don't mind,” Steve said with a shrug. “What are we watching?”

“Dunno. JARVIS?”

“How to Train Your Dragon, Sir. It was amongst your list of requests.”

“Yes, yes,” Tony muttered, fluffing pillows behind his back as Steve settled next to him. “Get on with it.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

“Tony. Tony, it's time to get up.”

“Not yet,” he mumbled into a warm shoulder. An even warmer chuckle sounded by his ear. Tony turned into the warmth.

“Tony. The alarm for your meds is going off.”

Oh. Steve. That was Steve's voice. He didn't remember falling asleep. Cracking his eyes, Tony pulled himself away from Steve, whose body heat he was shamelessly stealing.

“Hey,” Steve said with a smile that turned his heart over. “You must have been tired. You fell asleep pretty quickly.”

He grunted, sliding his eyes away from Steve, hacking as he sat up. “S-sorry...” he gasped.

Steve rubbed his back through it. “For what?”

“Drooling on you,” Tony wheezed.

“You didn't. You don't sound so good.”

He grabbed his bottles and poured the pills into his hands, downing them with the remainder of his water glass.

“Want anything?”

Tony shook his head.

“ _Need_ anything?”

Turning to fix a look on Steve, Tony grumbled wordlessly. Steve only laughed. “You could have gone, you know. You don't need to stay.”

“You told me,” Steve said mildly. “And I don't mind. It's fine. Besides. I like spending time with you.”

“Steve. No one willingly spends time with me,” he drawled after another cough.

“Don't say that.”

“Either people have to, or I pay them to.”

“That's not true.!

“Jesus!” Tony snapped. “It's not like you're being paid to love me unconditionally or something! Stop believing the best in me!”

“Someone has to.”

Tony opened his mouth to reply, eyes widening as his face paled, taking in Steve's pink cheeks. His focused expression, determined. Warm. And the way Tony's heart twisted as he stared at Steve.

“Tony?”

“Get out.”

Steve's brow furrowed in confusion. “Wh...what?”

“Get. Out. Couldn't be more simple,” he said, pushing away from Steve and standing. “Get out!”

“What—what did I—why? What did I do wrong?” Steve didn't move.

“Fuck you!” Tony screamed, choking as he coughed so hard his head spun.

“Tony, please. Calm down,” Steve said, hurrying over to wrap an arm around his waist.

He slapped it away. “Ge—get away fr...from me! You asshole! Stop being nice to me! How could you do this!”

“Do _what_!” Steve said, voice raising in his anxiety. “I don't understand!”

“Good fucking move, Rogers! I was perfectly fine! I was _fine_! I was going to die, and it didn't matter! It—”

“Of _course_ it ma—”

“Shut _up_!” Tony stabbed a finger in his direction, his breath coming fast. “You're not making this better! I was going to die and get out of everybody's way, leaving everything behind, and it was _fine_! And then _you_ show up! And you...!” He threw his hands into the air. “And you make me _love_ you of all things! _No_ ,” he snapped as a smile eased over Steve's lip. “I am _dying_! I'm dying! I'm a dead man walking!” he said harshly. “Like I told you the first day I met you!”

“But ther—”

“There is. No. Time.” Tony stared at him, blinking as he started to feel light-headed. “I have cancer.”

“I know—”

“And pneumonia.”

Steve paled. “But you... From waiting for me?” His voice sounded strangled, tortured.

“Just leave. This isn't going to end well for either of us,” Tony rasped tiredly. “I think you should go.”

“But—”

“I'll come to your show. Now leave.”

“Would you let me _talk!_ ” Steve snapped. “I hear an awful lot of you and not a lot of me. I know you have cancer! That's pretty fucking obvious, Tony! I still lov—”

“Shut up!” Tony screamed hoarsely at him, hands flying to his ears, turning away from Steve's shock.

“Are you seriously going to be that _childish_ , Tony!?”

“I'm _dying_! I—”

“Stop _saying_ that! As if I don't know!” Steve blurted, grabbing for his arm.

“I don't _need_ your _sentiment_!” Tony shrieked, toppling on the edge of hysteria, smacking Steve's hand away again. “I don't _need_ your _affection_! I don't _want_ it! There's no _point_ , Steve! You're just going to be—”

“I'll be devastated when you die anyway!” Steve bellowed, shoulders heaving, fists clenched at his sides.

Tony stared at him, tears flushing hotly to his eyes. “Well I don't want you to be. I didn't want to leave anyone behind,” he croaked. “Go away.”

“To—”

“Go. Away.” Tony turned and fled his room, locking himself in his workshop. JARVIS let him know when Steve had left the tower. He gave in to his light-headedness and slumped down on the floor and passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

He got everything in order. All his projects. All his plans. All his papers. All his lawyers. Everything.

He didn't answer Steve's texts.

He didn't answer Steve's voicemails.

He didn't answer Steve's emails.

He didn't answer Steve's letters.

The man needed to let him go. Tony ignored them all. Just how he ignored that the pneumonia was actually killing him. Just how he ignored Pepper's pitying looks. Her inquiries. His own emotions.

Tony stopped making plans. In case This Day was the Last Day.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

“Tony...?” Pepper walked in almost a week and a half after The Fight. She sighed when he didn't answer. “Tony!” Clacking across the floor, she didn't find him in the living room or public area. “Would you answer me please? You've been quiet all day. And it's freaking me out!” She sighed when she saw the back of his head peeking over the back of a chair that was situated in front of Steve's two paintings on Tony's wall. “You've been saying you were going to move one of those to your bedroom for a while now...” She sighed, coming up next to his side. “And you didn't have to move that chair all by yourself, you know.” Pepper looked down at him, touched Tony's head. “I think he really loves you, you know. You could be nicer to him. At least answer him. Give him some peace of mind.” Frowned. “Tony?” Pepper scrambled in front of Tony, feeling for a pulse, snatching her hand back when she didn't find one, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God. Tony. Tony! JARVIS!”

“Mr. Stark has been dead for one hour, seventeen minutes, and sixteen seconds.”

“Why didn't you _tell_ me when he—” she shrieked, backing up until she hit the wall, closing her eyes that flooded with tears.

“Mr. Stark instructed me not to,” JARVIS replied in the same dull tones.

“ _Fuck_ you, Anthony Stark! _Fuck_ you!” Pepper screamed, her voice breaking on a sob as she dropped her head onto her arms.

“Mr. Star—”

“Not now, JARVIS.”

“The press release has been sent,” JARVIS said anyway. “His funeral is arranged and paid for, and the company is yours, Miss Potts. The mortuary has also been contacted.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Pepper replied dully, lifting her head to stare at Tony. It was cliché. Just like it always was. He looked peaceful. Gaunt. Almost a ghost of who he had been. Lesser now that the fire was gone. But peaceful. “Rest in peace, Mr. Stark,” she whispered.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

_**The City Mourns as One of its Best and Brightest Succumbs to Illness; Stark Dead at 26** _

_Written by Sandra Collini_

_Best known for his charming public wit, flattering comment, and dazzling smile, Anthony Edward Stark has passed away on this May 6, 2013. Stark was suffering from cancer, an inoperable tumour in his brain, despite chemotherapy and other treatments. In his last weeks, he was known to be suffering also from pneumonia, particularly dangerous to those of weak immune systems._

_New York mourns it's favourite inventor turned businessman. It truly is the end of an era. His company is survived in Miss Virginia Potts. Little is known about where the Stark fortune will go, as he is not survived by any kin, and was not married._

_The Maria Stark Foundation will survive and continue its good works to honour Stark and the way he gave back to his community. Millions of people have been served through his contributions and ljskjffdl sf jl a dkldfa jsddlksdf l ls sjdlkf j skl kd s..._

 

Steve dropped the paper without reading the rest. It was a nice tribute. A nice little exposé. His face tightened and he tucked his portfolio under his arm, pausing in the bathroom to straighten his tie one last time. He sighed and headed down to the street to meet Happy and Pepper. The drive over to the cemetery was silent. As predicted. The sun was high in the sky, however, blinding Steve when he got out.

“What's that?” Pepper asked, gesturing at his portfolio.

Steve shook his head. He'd never seen a funeral so heavily attended. By people or media. In a way it was flattering. That so many people had cared about Tony Stark. In a way it pissed Steve off, the thought that he had some special claim to Tony Stark that no one else did. That no one knew. He waited numbly through the 'ashes to ashes' speech. Pepper stepped forward to say some words. Steve had declined her offer to. He snuck a look at his painting of Tony. It unconsciously told the world how much he'd grown to love the man. A background of deep blue that offset his eyes, Steve had painted mostly in dark greys, working washes of colour into the shadows. A hint of gold along the curve of Tony's back, red faded in along the front of his stomach. Green in the cup of his hands, upraised, gears tumbling from them like something abundant and precious, speaking to Tony's ability to create and make things work.

He looked away. He hadn't wanted it here. Pepper, upon seeing the completed product when she'd come to visit, had insisted. It was a vibrant likeness, Tony, not quite healthy, but more like how he'd been when Steve had first met him. Having seen pictures, Steve had added in his hair and trademark facial hair. He didn't know if Tony would have wanted that. Of course, it was too late, and it didn't quite matter, did it.

The coffin began to sink into the earth. His breath caught. He was going to lose his chance. Steve's hand tightened on the portfolio. “Wait,” he whispered. “Wait!” Steve said again louder.

Pepper looked at him sharply.

“Wait!” Steve called to the people lowering the coffin. Heads turned. Steve swallowed, ignoring Pepper's hiss of his name. Pushing forward, he knelt, placing his portfolio on top of the coffin. He rested his hand there a moment. Murmured, “All the sketches, Tony. Every single one I did of you. They're all yours.”

Pepper's hand closed painfully on his shoulder and she guided him back away from the edge. She dropped the dirt and then the hole was slowly closed up as people filtered away until only he, Pepper, Happy, and a military fellow remained.

“James Rhodes,” said military fellow said, offering a hand to Steve.

He took it after a moment, tearing his eyes away from Tony's grave. How weird that was. That he was just gone. Steve was never going to see him move again. He was never going to see his face in motion. All he had was that stupid painting.

“Steve,” Pepper prompted softly.

“Oh. Uh. Steve Rogers.”

“So how'd you know Tony?”

“He insulted me,” Steve said faintly. “At a café.”

Rhodes snorted, drawing Steve's eyes sharply. “That sounds like Tony.”

Steve turned away, taking his hand back, clenching it tightly behind his leg.

“I uh...” Rhodes shrugged. “He was my best friend.” Pepper sobbed and strode away. Rhodes shot Steve a guilty look. “I was supposed to come home. Shit. I was supposed to come home and see him. Before...”

His lips pulled down sharply and Steve struggled to keep his cool.

“Anyway. Thanks for being there for him,” James said quietly.

“I don't need to be thanked. I didn't do it to be thanked,” Steve said tightly. “I did it...”

“Hey,” Rhodes said softly, reaching out to clasp Steve's shoulder. “It's cool, man. I get it. And I'm glad he had you.”

Steve left.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Three days later, he gathered with Pepper and a herd of lawyers at Stark Industries and stared at the letter Tony had left him. A goddamn letter. And he was left alone to read it. After he discovered he'd been gifted with Tony's fortune. And his goddamn paintings. His own fucking work. His hands were clenched into fists on either side of the small envelope, the silly thing not even sealed, the flap just tucked into the envelope. Simply addressed to 'Steve' on the front, in Tony's blocked print.

Steve didn't touch it.

Not for a while.

“Steve,” Pepper said softly, poking her head in the door.

“Just!” He startled. “Just give me a minute. Please.”

“Sure thing,” she replied in the same quiet tones. “Take your time.”

Turning back to the letter, Steve picked it up. The paper was soft. Obviously high quality. Thin stuff that absorbed the ink inside. Tony's same block print in bright blue ink. Handwritten. Not something typed.

 

 

Steve pressed his fingers against his eyes, struggling to remain calm. “Dammit,” he muttered. “Dammit!” He slammed his fist on the table.

“Steve?” Pepper said, door cracked again.

“Did you know about this?” he demanded, twisting in his chair to turn and face her. Steve waved the paper at her. “Did you?”

“I don't know what that is,” she said flatly.

“You've never seen it before.”

“No.”

Steve thrust the letter at her, turning to glare down at the table while Pepper read it.

“Then it's yours.”

“What?!” Steve whipped around to face her again.

Pepper gave him a small rueful smile. “Tony Stark doesn't do small gifts. He gave me his company, Steve.”

“What am I supposed to do with billions of dollars and a ridiculous amount of priceless art! And furniture! And...and _shit_!” Steve shrieked. “I don't want it! Why should—what about you?!”

“He gave it to you.”

“I don't want it! Having...having his _stuff_ doesn't make it _better_!”

“I know.”

“I don't want it!”

“Then we'll sell it,” Pepper said patiently. “Steve. He lov—”

“Don't use that word,” Steve said harshly.

“Fine. He _cared_ about you enough that he wanted to give you everything. Steve. I know Tony Stark. You...were good for him. It was good. He was happier.”

“Until he caught pneumonia,” he muttered darkly.

“You can't—”

“It was my fault! Jesus, Pepper, it was _my_ fault! Tony never should have _caught_ pneumonia!”

“Steve—”

“It _was_ my fault! He sat on my fucking _doorstep_ waiting for me to get home!” Pepper's expression melted into something sad and pitying that made Steve look away quickly. He sagged over the table.

“He wanted you to have it,” she said softly, stepping closer. Her hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing. “So you should have it.”

Standing swiftly and throwing Pepper's hand off, Steve skirted her, snatching the letter off the table before he left. He took it home and placed it on his kitchen counter. And didn't look at it again for a week.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Steve ditched his classes, dodged calls from Pepper, for the entire week. He must have read the letter about thirty times a day. By the end of the week, Steve had the words memorised. Could recite them to himself as he fell asleep. As he drew endless sketches of Tony with all the expressions that he could remember seeing cross his face.

Eventually, Pepper came by, knocking on his door until Steve finally couldn't take it anymore and he had to answer. “What.”

“You can't ignore me forever,” Pepper said, heels sharp across his floor as she breezed past him. “You have to give me your decision. I need to let the lawyers know what you decided, Steve.”

He slid his eyes towards the letter. Still half-folded on his counter. “Fine. I'll accept it.”

“He wanted you to have it,” she said gently. “He genuinely cared for you Steve. I'm sure he loved you.”

Steve's throat felt tight as his eyes burned with tears. “He did,” he rasped. “He did love me. That's why he sent me away!”

“Oh Steve...” Pepper said softly. Hurrying over, she wrapped her arms around him, curling one hand into his hair.

He choked on a single sob, breath hitching as he tried to hold them back.

“It's okay to cry,” she said, voice warped with emotion. “It's hard. He's gone, and I hardly know what to do. I expect to see him in the halls. Steve, I can't go anywhere without expecting to see him. I had to redecorate the office. I couldn't... I go all the places he went. He's everywhere in that building, and I...” She choked.

Steve wept. Curled over Pepper, he soaked the shoulder of her blouse. He folded her into his chest as they held each other and finally mourned, both richer by their loss.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> -Cancer  
> -Illness  
> -Character death


End file.
